She cut her hair today. It looks different I said, but good. I said it looks good and she smiled and she laughed a bit and pressed a short kiss on my cheek. I will forget about these things, eventually, but I have them now. And the smell of her skin on mine.

She cut her hair today. It’s saltstick short and messy. I still remember it being the length unrolled liquorice and of the same colour. I remember it being in my hand and around my fingers. But I don’t tell her. Some things stay silent.

She cut her hair today and she is so different. Nearly like somebody else. (and the question is: are we ever the same? or always, always different? And I don’t answer myself, I can’t. Some things have to stay silent.) “Hello pretty stranger” I joke and put my hand in the small of her back. I’m not pretty she says (I’m a stranger, she admits and wraps her fingers around mine.) 

Posted 1 year ago with 170 notes
Tags: writing  spilled ink  mine  prose  poetry  story  short story  hair  love  cute  beautiful  poem  write  read  art  writer  silent  promise  secret  life  live  happy  skin  
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